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be over. There was no tie in the game of nor; if the score
was even at the end of three periods there would be a fourth. Blade wanted to
avoid that. If he could just keep from scoring until those thirty beats passed
. . .
He couldn't drop the ball. All at once there wasn't enough dust around him to
hide him from his teammates.
They would see him plainly. His mount seemed to have found new strength. It
was pawing at the ground, ready to run instead of collapse. Blade cursed it.
If only he had some really useful form of telepathy! Telekinesis, for
example-the ability to control physical objects with the mind. He could shoot
the ball and make it miss, or snap his stick before the ball left the cup,
or-But he didn't have telekinesis, and someone would surely detect it if he
did and used it.
Using telepathy among telepaths was like shouting secrets in a crowded
theater.
Blade urged his mount down the field. There wasn't anything to do except his
best, and hope it wouldn't be good enough. Twenty beats to go, nineteen,
eighteen, seventeen-the goal almost within shooting distance-fifteen,
fourteen, thirteen, twelve-
If he shot now he might miss. But he didn't have to shoot now, and everybody
would wonder if he did.
He had a clear field ahead. He could ride down and practically spit the ball
into the cap, and since it was possible he had to do it. Blade rode on.
At eight beats to go he was in shooting range. He dipped his stick, then
snapped it upward. The ball soared through the air, losing a feather at it
went. Maybe that would change its course enough to make it miss. It rose-and
suddenly Blade knew that it was rising higher than it should. He hadn't put
that much strength into the stick's movements, hoping the ball would fall
short.
Instead the ball rose a good six feet into the air. Nobody except Blade would
have noticed anything, but
Blade stared as the ball soared over the hole. It struck on the far side of
the mound, bounced so high that
Blade was afraid for a moment it was going to do the impossible and bounce
back in, then rolled down the mound and off into the coarse grass beyond the
boundaries of the field.
The roar of the crowd drowned out the last few drumbeats.
The Black Rocks had won the Great Game of nor, eight to seven.
Blade threw down his stick in a good imitation of anger. He was more surprised
and suspicious than angry. Something-or someone-had obviously been acting on
the ball from outside. Telekinesis? Probably.
And whose? Had he managed to become telekinetic by simply wanting to be? Or
had someone else-?
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For the moment it was an unanswerable question, even if he could give it the
attention it deserved. Both teams were riding toward him, their captains
riding side by side in the rear. Both sides looked too exhausted to either
rejoice at their victory or mourn their defeat. All Blade saw was blank,
dust-caked faces like his own.
All except Winter Owl's. The warrior was grinning as he rode up to Blade.
"Blade, if you play for the
White Trees next year, I think I shall call the game their victory before we
play. Why make ourselves tired and dirty when we know what will happen? Better
to sit with women on our knees and beer in our bellies."
"Do not be so sure of that," Friend of Lions said. He wasn't exactly grinning,
but he no longer looked
grim. "And besides, does not the beer taste better when one has worked up a
proper thirst?"
"There may be something in that," said Winter Owl. "Let us go find out for
certain, and take Blade with us. This day I say there is neither winner nor
loser in the Great Game of nor."
"I thank you," said Blade. He had to fight not to sway on the back of his
mount, and the idea of anything to drink was enticing.
His day's work was done. He had Winter Owl's goodwill, and no one suspected
there was anything odd about the outcome of the game. No one, that is, except
the person who jiggled the ball in Blade's last shot-if there was such a
person.
That question could wait. Eye of Crystal was running across the field toward
him, wearing a broad grin and not much else. She laughed and threw her arms
around his knee, and he reached down and tousled her hair. She would make a
fine woman to have on his knee while he quenched his thirst.
Chapter 19
By the time the Mistress Ellspa was asleep, it was dark. If things were not
the way they were, Cheeky would have been afraid to leave the hut in the
darkness. But he had to go to the Uchendi village to find the Master Blade and
tell him what he knew.
The Wise One had gone into the Uchendi village with Moyla, leaving Ellspa and
Cheeky a short distance away, in case she needed them. The feather-monkey and
his mistress were staying in a deserted hut in the woods not far from the
village, awaiting word from the Wise One.
Cheeky had learned what was afoot from Moyla, who had sent a message to him.
(Apparently telepathy worked over long distances, like radio transmission.)
What Moyla had said was that tonight, the Mistress
Wise One was going to send another Master-Cheeky had the picture of a young
man who seemed to be angry all the time-to kill the Master Blade. If Cheeky
did not go to the village and give a warning, the
Master Blade might die. Cheeky could not let that happen, no matter how
dangerous it might be to try to stop it.
Cautiously Cheeky crept out from under the blanket he shared with Ellspa and
looked up at the roof, which was full of holes. He could see that the moon was
in the sky. Maybe it would not be quite as dark as he had feared. But animals
would be walking in the night bigger than he was and hungry enough to eat him.
He could not see the mountains that during the day would have guided him to
the village of the
Uchendi Masters and the Master Blade. He might get lost. Then he would die
even if he did not meet a dangerous animal.
The Mistress Ellspa sighed softly and stretched out her arms on either side.
One hand nearly touched
Cheeky's back. He stayed very still and took small breaths until he was sure
the Mistress was still asleep.
Cheeky wondered if he should try to mind-speak the Mistress Ellspa without her
knowledge. He might be able to do it. If he could, he might be able to make
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sure she slept so deeply that she would not wake up until long after he was in
the village. That would be better for him, since then she could not warn the
Wise One. It might also be better for Ellspa because the Wise One would not be
so angry with her if she was put to sleep.
Cheeky did not want anyone angry with Ellspa. She had always been kind to him,
not only in what she did but in what she thought. She really liked him, so
much that he had sometimes heard her thinking that
she wished he was a man. He had wished that she was one of the Feather People.
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